


Insider Information

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "The Meek Shall Inherit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insider Information

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Green Floating Weirdness #2 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Tell us a story, Sarge."_

 

          John Derriman, newly transferred from a comfortable post in Florida, found himself platoon sergeant for a top secret Special Forces unit, the Omega Squad.  Even the name told him he wasn't going to like the change of post.  He shook his head, continuing to supervise the other five members of his unit as they wrestled with three picnic tables that would occupy the recently remodeled kitchen of their new barracks.

          Barracks, he snorted to himself.  This was _not_ the way the Army was supposed to operate.  He wasn't supposed to be assigned to a quaint Coach House, given his own room, run of twenty-five totally secure acres of beautiful scenery in the middle of nowhere, and a top secret assignment.  Not at his age.

          The need for a serious re-evaluation of his sanity was obviously called for.  He'd told Ironhorse he didn't want to be shot at anymore.  He just wanted to finish out his twenty-five years in peace, retire, maybe move back to Kentucky, buy a little house in the hills, and spend his pension on bait.

          _Fishing_.  _I should be any place but here_ , he thought.  _Definitely fishing_.

          But Ironhorse had made it clear he wasn't concerned with the sergeant's opinion on the assignment and John Michael Derriman once again belonged to Paul Ironhorse.

          "Would you get that end up?" Norah Coleman snapped, glaring at the man holding the other end of the table.

          And a female NCO?  While Derriman was more than used to working with female soldiers, he wasn't used to ones who looked like they belonged on the cover of _Vogue_ , or whatever those ladies' magazines were called, and had Special Forces training to boot.  And, to top it off, Coleman was the unit's squad leader.  She'd be in charge in Ironhorse's absence despite Derriman's higher rank.  She'd push the troops and he'd be pushing paper.

          But it was a gutsy move on the colonel's part.  Norah was still green, and if this assignment was as important as he suspected, then they were all going to have to be 110% percent.

          And the guy Coleman was yelling at?  Boy, what a joy he's gonna be, the sergeant reflected.  Newly promoted Sergeant Alexander Stravrakos.  The man had a chip on his shoulder so big Derriman wasn't sure how he managed to walk upright.  Why Ironhorse ever decided on this kid…  Derriman shook his head.  Well, if the colonel picked him, he must have seen some potential the sergeant was missing.  Guess I'll just have to keep lookin' for it, he decided.

Shifting to a more comfortable position leaning against a kitchen cabinet, Derriman continued to watch the group.  What the hell were they doing here?  What had Ironhorse gotten himself into this time?  The man was a walking, talking miracle, and John hoped that the luck Ironhorse had had over the years was still holding.  He had a bad feeling that they were going to need it.

          He and the other five squad members would be the leadership for a larger unit that he, Coleman, and the colonel would hand pick over the next few weeks.  Until then, the officer seemed bent on killing them with extended runs and repetitive drills over an obstacle course that Derriman was sure must have been imported from Hell.  Why they were training so hard was a mystery, but the fact that they were made him uneasy.

          "Okay, set it down," Coleman directed and Stravrakos lowered his end of the table with a thud.  Alverez and Peterson maneuvered their table in next to the first and carefully lined it up under Coleman's supervision.  Goodson and Mathews positioned the third and final table.

          The four corporals making up the present Omega Squad were a little too independent for Derriman's taste, but they were certainly good soldiers.  Maybe it would work out.  Ironhorse already had them well on the way to working as a unit and they'd only been on the property a little over twenty-four hours.  Voyages into Hell had that effect.

          Before long the population of soldiers on the Cottage grounds would expand from six to twelve, with twenty-four more Omegans housed at nearby Ft. Streeter.

          Derriman groaned, remembering the colonel's order to fall out at 0500 for a twelve mile endurance run.

          "You strainin' yourself, standing there watchin'?" Stravrakos asked with more than a touch of sarcasm.

          Derriman grinned, and his eyes twinkling with a touch of malice.  "No, I was thinkin' about the twelve mile run we're all gonna be making in the mornin'."

          "Twelve miles?" Alverez echoed.  "Man, I haven't worked this hard since Special Forces school."  The small, wiry Hispanic had a build that promised that the run would be no problem, but he rubbed his lower back for emphasis.

          "Tell me about it," Goodson concurred.  The team's medic, the young man looked like an ad for a Kansas wheat farmer than a trained commando.

          _They're all so damned young_ , Derriman thought.  None of them had served in Vietnam, although he knew that Coleman had been in Panama and Stravrakos in Grenada.  Mathews and Peterson, two large ex-football types, looked slightly ridiculous as they spread the tablecloths Coleman had handed them.  She busied herself pouring coffee for the group.

          Carrying a tray over with the six full cups, she sat it down, announcing, "But don't get used to it.  I'm not a fix-the-coffee kind of girl."

          "Why doesn't that come as a surprise?" Alex asked, winning himself a pair of peaked brown eyebrows over the woman's blue eyes.  The move was reminiscent of Ironhorse and Derriman sighed.  Just what they needed – another eyebrow talker.

          "Hey, Sarge," Alverez said, sitting down and grabbing one of the steaming cups.  "You know the Colonel, right?"

          Derriman nodded.  He'd wondered how long it would take for them to ask him about their new commander.

          "So," Peterson said, also sitting down, the others following suit, "is he really the hard-ass he sounds like?"

          That brought a smile to Derriman's face.  "Harder."

          Goodson groaned.  "Meaning we might not live to find out what it is we're supposed to be doing here."

          "He's a West Pointer, isn't he," Stravrakos said.  It was meant as a slur and it came out that way.

          A second nod.  "But," Derriman tacked on, "he ain't no holier than thou ring-knocker.  The Colonel, he came up the hard way.  He's a damn good man, and a better officer.  You listen to what he tells you, and do it, no questions, and he'll lead you thought Hell without meltin' the ice cream."

          "You make him sound like Superman," Mathews said, rotating his cup on the table.

          Derriman shrugged.  "I don't know.  Maybe he is.  I saw him do things that would have killed anybody else…"  He trailed off.

          "What's under all that bluster?" Coleman asked.  "What are we doing here, Sarge?"

          "I wish t' hell I knew, Norah, but I don't.  Ironhorse'll tell us, when he's good and ready.  But this much I do know.  If he's involved, you can bet it's important."  He looked around the coach house.  "Maybe the most important thing any of us will ever do."

          "Sounds ominous," Goodson said softly.

          "Maybe.  I've never seen him so… driven.  This is big, people.  Real big."

          The six Omegans sat in silence, drinking their coffee, each thinking about the strange turn their lives had taken.  It was Coleman who finally asked, "Where'd you meet him, Sarge, Vietnam?"

          Derriman nodded once.  "1971.  He was right out of the Point and Special Forces trainin' and green as hell."

          "That man was never green," Alverez said softly, drawing smiles and chuckles from the others.

          "Around the edges, at least," Derriman corrected.  "But I never saw anyone learn quicker, and be damned if he didn't teach this ol' dog some new tricks, and I was on my third tour."  He shook his head, stood and walked over to pour himself a second cup.  Carrying the pot back, he sat it on the table for the others to help themselves, then continued.  "He had the magic.  Maybe it's the Indian in him, I don't know, but he could see things, hear things, hell, smell things than no one else did.  He could track, hide…  He inspired the men.  Earned their loyalty."

"I can believe that," Coleman said.  "Did you serve with him after Vietnam?"

          "Not directly under his command, but I was in some of the same hell-holes he was."

          "Tell us a story, Sarge," Goodson prompted, unknowingly beginning a pattern that was to last for years to come – Omega Squad, gathered in the kitchen, sipping on coffee, and listening to Derriman relate the exploits of one Paul Ironhorse.

          Derriman sucked in a deep breath and let it fall out with a sigh.  "Let me think…" he said, searching for something.  He leaned forward, arms resting on the table and his voice dropping.  "The whole damned mission was as illegal as hell, but we'd gotten word that some of our guys were being held over the Cambodian border.  The Brass decided to send in a small unit to find 'em and bring 'em out.  Yours truly and captain Ironhorse were among the lucky few picked for this assignment.

          "Now, I was gettin' short and wasn't a damned bit happy about havin' my name pulled out of a hat, but the captain was up for the mission so I felt a little better.

          "They dropped us in behind the lines, we didn't know where, exactly.  All they gave us was a map with the terrain and the coordinates for the camp and the LZ.  Ironhorse headed out like a damned psychic or something, but when we got there the camp was deserted.  I guess down deep we all knew that might happen, but I'll tell you, it hurt.

          "About two klicks off the LZ we ran across commo wire.  Now, that's bad news because only a shitload of NVA strung commo wire between their command posts.  The unit spread out and kept going.  No other choice.  We didn't know where we were…  About fifty yards later there was enough people shootin' at us to make you think you were fighting a swarm of bees.  It was comin' from all sides and we all knew there wasn't gonna be any friendly arty comin' in to bail our butts out."

          "What happened?" Goodson asked.

          "The Captain, he dropped down on his belly and started crawlin' and we followed him."

          "And?" Coleman prompted.

          Derriman took a swallow from his cup, enjoying the expressions on the five faces.  "Well, I thought we were crawlin' around in circles, but be damned if we didn't come out on the far side of that crossfire.  No sooner than we did, they started blowin' the hell out of it.  We hunkered down in the dirt as far as we could get, but the Captain, well, he let out a scream that would've curdled milk in a cow."

          "Why?" Peterson asked.

          "To make the enemy think they were getting killed," Alverez supplied, nodding his agreement with the ploy.

          Derriman grinned.  "When they stopped shelling, Charlie sat there, waiting for the survivors to make a break for it while we crawled away, easy as you please.  'Course they weren't stupid, and as soon as they sent someone out to look for bodies, they realized what we did.  Then it was a race, but the captain had bought us a head-start and we had the best of it.

          "We got to the LZ about a quarter klick ahead, and let me tell you, those choppers were the sweetest things I'd ever seen.  Ironhorse and I laid down cover fire while the rest of the unit boarded, then we were runnin', shootin' and tryin' to zigzag…

"It must have been a lucky shot that got me, 'cause I know I was setting a land speed record," Derriman said and laughed, patting his midsection.  "No spare tires back then."

          The five chuckled.

          "I went down, and I _knew_ I was gonna buy it.  Ten days to go and I was gonna die.  They were right behind us.  Then…"  Derriman paused, swallowing the emotion that choked his voice, and took a sip of the cold coffee.  "He came back for me.  Stupid move.  Absolutely asinine, but he did.

          "Ironhorse was shootin' over me, holdin' them off.  The chopper was edgin' in, but the pilot wasn't a crazy as the Captain.  He reached down and got me on my feet.  I was stumbling forward, he was running backwards, shootin'.  It was… unreal.  I don't remember gettin' in the chopper, but when that bird took off.  Well, all I could do was cry.  Spent the next nine days in the hospital and then took the Big Bird home, thanks to Ironhorse."

          The six soldiers sat quietly for several moments.

          "You sure you don't know what we're doing here, Sarge?" Mathews asked.

          Derriman shook his head, sucking in a deep breath and letting the memory fade.  "The Colonel'll tell us, when he's ready.  Just remember, he won't ask you to do a damned thing he won't do himself, and nine times out of ten you'll end up watchin' while he does it himself, anyway.  So when he says jump, I better hear you askin' how high and what direction, or so help me, you'll think Ironhorse is your ol' grandma after I get finished with you."

          The five Omegans grinned and nodded.  Stravrakos reached over and clapped Derriman on the shoulder.  "Think we'll remember that ten miles into tomorrow's ordeal?"

          John laughed.  "Hell, you'll be too busy tryin' to keep up with the Colonel to remember."


End file.
